⊰ Hazivahin ⊱

A few years ago, when my youngest daughter was in kindergarten, only the mothers were invited to an event for Mother’s/Family Day that the kindergarten put on with an over-the-top effort. I really don’t enjoy these events and didn’t bother to read the entire message, just checked the date and time so I wouldn’t miss it.

On the day of the event, right before I left, I searched for the message in the group to see where it was being held and saw that it said to bring traditional dishes. Both our partners come from mixed backgrounds and we don’t really have a classic traditional dish.
I asked my partner, Ziv, concerned , “What should I bring?” He replied that he had made pasta with red sauce and that I could take that. For those interested, it’s not ketchup, but a rich sauce that includes fried onion and such.

When I arrived at the event, the person greeting us at the entrance and taking the food containers asked me, “What is this?” I muttered, “It’s… Ziv made it,” (in Hebrew: Zivahin) and went inside.

There was a ballet performance by older kids, and during the break, when we stepped outside the hall, I saw that the dishes parents brought had been nicely arranged and displayed on a table, each with a sign indicating what it was. Next to mine, there was a handwritten sign that read “Zivahin” (translates to: Ziv-made). Of course, I didn’t correct them.

Ever since, that’s our traditional dish.